A love letter to my small town:
Without you, I would have nothing to work on. If I was born in a city, I don’t know if I would know how to push for progressive ideals because there wouldn’t be old men and rich students telling me about every tradition I am ruining with spiteful inclusivity.
My best friend comes home from Lebanon and tells me it is too small here. Same with an old friend home for the summer from New York. They all pour in and complain that they miss their anonymity. And maybe I’ve been spending too much time with the locals, but I want them to be grateful for being seen.
I used to hate the stereotype of the suburbs and fulfill my own stereotype of resentment. But then I had to watch everyone I love leave it, and me, behind. All I have had for four years is familiarity and memories to reinvent and hug tighter every time I find myself alone.
Maybe this means I romanticize that we all get coffee from the same stand on our way to school and that all the students study in the same place so that when you show up to study for your statistics final there are three people from your class poring over the same notes.
But while everyone was busy getting out I have been left enough time to find the things to miss. I have so much to miss. I have dug my nails deeper into the city soil in efforts to use it as a springboard but now I have become a garden quicker and fuller than I thought possible. They gave me a plaque and now it is my turn to leave.